tle further away, but in the opposite direction, I can hear the sounds of merriment taking place. People are shouting and laughing and puking and smoking and drinking and eating and puking and on the very edge of my hearing I can listen to the sounds of other joyful activities that I won't go into here, however much you want me to. But these embarrassingly obvious sounds are more-or-less drowned out by the large collective noise of a beach party in full sway. I can also hear the crackle and snapping of a bonfire and if I move my head slightly I can see the freakish glow that it casts. I'm not far from the party; it is at the edge of the beach where there is more grass and sand is but a minor mineral. I am lying on the last of the grass in this place. I came here to get away from the oppressive heat of the bonfire and the oppressive heat of all my friends. Sometimes I can get so sick of them. I wonder now whether I can get up or not. I don't want to go back to the party; I'd like to take a walk. I sit up. I think I'm okay. I stand up, slowly. Now I set of in an awkward lurch because I've forgotten how many legs I've got but then I remember that I have two and I'm walking as properly as possible. I go down to the water's edge and let my bare feet get washed by the sucking swash. It swirls around my feet and the ends of my trousers are wet and when the water rushes out again I'm a little lower in the sand and I'm left with the feeling that my feet have gone off for a swim by themselves. I'd love to join them but I know how dangerous it is in my current state; but I won't get into that. I set off again up the beach, my feet are back from their quick dip and we are working in conjunction against the wash. Teamwork is best when it's with yourself. I'm strolling lightly now; I am now in full command of my limbs and I'm swinging my arms with each step and, since I have some control over my head, ...
